


Maybe You're Gonna Be The One that Saves Me

by bramblesforbreakfast



Series: The fire will make you whole [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dragon Riders AU, Drinking, I'm bad at this, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Just one though, Panic Attacks, companion piece to You Can't Live Without the Fire, graphic depiction of violence just to be sure, let me know if I missed something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 16:26:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11188923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bramblesforbreakfast/pseuds/bramblesforbreakfast
Summary: Grantaire is a mess when he decides to go see a fair in town. What - or who - he finds there will alter his life forever...





	Maybe You're Gonna Be The One that Saves Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yaoikillerpilze](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=yaoikillerpilze).



> This is for Alex, who made my day with those lovely comments!!!
> 
> This is part three of a series of mostly chronological one-shots that are set in the same universe as my story [You Can't Live Without the Fire](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3825880/chapters/8530984) and can be seen as a preface or prologue to what happens in the story.
> 
> The title for this story was taken from the song "Wonderwall" by Oasis.

He set the cold rim of the bottle to his lips again and closed his eyes while the whisky burnt down his throat. At least the sting in his nose and the burning of his throat was distracting him from the misery around him.

He cursed the idiot in the tavern who had told him to go to the circus and have a look at the few tricks they did and to enjoy himself a little. He cursed himself for believing a little trip would be enough to distract him from his misery. He cursed the people around him for having a good time. He cursed the alcohol for making him feel even more bitter and colder than on other days.

Grantaire had felt miserably as soon as he had stepped into the large circle made up of small tents, caravans, carts and stalls. Men and women where whirling around the townsfolk who had come down to see for themselves what the travelling folk had to offer. All of them were dressed in the colourful costumes everyone expected them to wear, they where laughing and joking, pulling smaller magical tricks, enchanting the audience with dancing and other acrobatics.

Grantaire even saw what the people called a “freak show”. A young girl with wide, sad dark eyes sat on a stool and combed her long hair that had a matching colour to the dense hair on her face, shoulders and arms that made her look more animal than girl. She shirked from the looks of the gaping audience and turned her face away whenever someone laughed.

A dwarfish man was standing on a small stage, talking to a woman who was about two and a half metre tall and looked like a slender corpse although she was clad in expensive looking clothes while the man only wore a ragged clown's costume that was entirely too big for him. They seemed to be immersed in a simple conversation but while looking at them, Grantaire saw that the lower lip of the woman wobbled whenever someone pointed at her and that the man was determined to distract her by talking to her, maybe trying to blend out the looks people gave him as well.

On a table on the next stage sat a small girl who was playing with a doll, a second set of arms hanging limply at her sides while a woman who seemed to be her mother watched over her, glaring down whoever came too close to the girl or talked to her. The girl did probably not even know that she was the star of the poster Grantaire had seen, the poster that promised the most obscure freak show the entire realm had seen.

Disgusted from the amusement of the other guests, Grantaire had turned away and had searched for something to drink to dull the disappointment he felt, the loneliness that got palpable whenever he walked among other people, the desperation that sometimes had him clawing at his own eyes and hair in order to make the pain go away.

Standing at the sidelines, he watched the proceedings on the square, the people laughing about the so called freaks without any consideration for their feelings – they were humans like him and them, for god's sake! – forcing the acrobats and dancers time and again to dance for them, throwing coins at them as if they were some kind of amusement machine which did not deserve a break.

The travelling folk were all smiling and dancing and laughing, of course, but Grantaire was also often smiling and laughing just to please his environment and he knew what a fake smile looked like and all of them had perfected that art. They had to do this, if they wanted to live, they were pushed further and further to the outskirts of society without the possibility to return to it.

Grantaire took another huge sip and loathed himself for coming down here. What had he been thinking? He had known what this place would be like, why had he hoped that it would be different here?

The loneliness crashed over Grantaire like a wave once more and he put the bottle down, deciding to leave, go back to his gloomy attic room in the small village close by and drown himself in cheap wine and maybe sketch a bit to get that tumble of feelings and thoughts out of his organism. Maybe with a few rough sketches he could shake the feeling that he was missing some part of himself if not even the whisky had been able to erase that nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He tossed a coin to the bartender, put the half-empty bottle down and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers before he strolled over to the make-shift gate the travelling artists had erected. He ignored the slight swirling feeling in his head and tried to make his steps as sure as possible without swaying too much. He paid no attention to his surroundings, already brooding about sketching the unhappy, tall woman like she should be seen: a human with flaws and their own innate beauty, when suddenly a voice caught his attention.

A voice that rose like a thunderclap over the noise of the crowd and addressed everyone who heard the man talking: “Come closer, all of you, come closer!”

Grantaire turned slightly and looked over his shoulder. In front of a large caravan which was standing parallel to the walkways for the spectators and was obscured with a heavy looking curtain, a man had stepped onto a box and waived the crowd towards himself. He was burly, wore a ragged suit and had the most humongous moustache Grantaire had ever seen.

“Madames et Messieurs, Ladies and Gentleman!”, he hollered again, “Come and see. You will face the most cruel, most vicious beast to ever walk this earth! Be one of the only ones who will ever stand face to face with the monster that would rip your face off if you came too close!”

Grantaire furrowed his brows and turned around, standing slightly behind the crowd that assembled in front of the man who was still praising whatever it was he had to show them. Something about that had picked Grantaire's interest and his feet felt like rooted to the ground.

A man with a cane bumped slightly into Grantaire while he was passing him. Quickly, he turned around and raised a hand in an apologetic gesture, smiling shy at Grantaire. He was pale, had a sharp cut face and gentle, brown eyes, his hair lying flat and a little unkempt around his head. He wasn't from the village, Grantaire knew everyone in the village and the boy was not living amongst them.

“Sorry.”, grinned the boy and limped on, his left knee stiff while a bald man further to the front watched them intently, his dark face even darker by the shadow his cap drew.

Grantaire watched as the limping boy drew closer to the man and whispered something to him. The bald guy turned and looked to Grantaire, shrugging his shoulders and replying something to the shorter man who grinned wide.

Grantaire's fingers itched for the neck of a bottle and he had to forcefully remove his glance from those two in order to keep his alcohol-fuelled temperament in check. Those were most likely two onlookers who had their fun commenting on everything and everyone, judging even though they knew shit about the people and their lives.

“I present!”, roared the man in that moment and caught Grantaire's attention again, “The purple rough neck!”

He yanked the curtain down the cart and while the fabric pooled on the floor, a gasp went through the crowd and Grantaire's throat went tight in surprise and fear.

In one corner of the cart that was equipped with vertical iron bars at the long sides was a small, purple dragon huddled up with its head pressed against its side. It looked like a large dog with the body of a small horse, long cork-screw horns growing out of its head and following the stout line of its neck down to where the shoulders started.

Its large eyes were dark and full of fear while it eyed the cheering and yelling crowd. It tried to make itself even smaller by ducking even more but the man who presented it grabbed a long pole, rammed it between the iron bars and into the side of the dragon who yelped dreadfully and sprang to its feet, snapping for the pole.

Grantaire made an aborted step forward, his heart pumping against his ribcage like mad while something about how afraid the dragon was upon seeing the crowd and the pole in the hand of the showman tore at his heart. It was a terrible thing to force humans into a freak show, but it was even more cruel to mistreat animals who could not defend themselves. And this so called vicious dragon was trembling with fear now while the people yelled and laughed and pressed forward to the cart where the terrified animal hissed and drew into the corner.

Just then Grantaire saw that the showman had fastened some kind of binding over the nostrils of the dragon to prevent it from breathing fire – and probably breathing in general. Hatred for the cruelty of that bastard cursed through him and when the man shoved the pole at the animal again and struck a vicious blow against its neck to make it move again, Grantaire jolted forward.

“Leave it alone!”, he yelled, his speech slightly slurred from all the alcohol he had consumed earlier, but not one of the people around him seemed to pay any attention to him. So Grantaire started shoving through the back rows of the crowd, anger burning in his guts and fury making the vein at his neck pulse.

A hand wrapped around his upper arm and he was yanked back. Ready to snap at whoever was holding him back to let the fuck go, Grantaire glared up into the face of a bull of a man. His skin was darker, maybe as dark as the skin of the bald guy Grantaire had seen before, and his eyes were black as night. His smile did not really match his threatening outside as he leaned down and chuckled: “Easy there, tiger. You will get yourself in trouble if you yell shit like that!”

“Shut the fuck up.”, growled Grantaire and yanked his arm out off the grip of the taller man, “Someone needs to take a stand against such cruelties!”

“Lower your fucking voice!”, growled another man next to the giant. He was smaller, pale and had a flock of copper coloured curls sticking out under the brim of the cap he was wearing. His eyes were uneasy scanning the crowd while he murmured: “He'll draw attention to us.”

“No, he'll pose a great _distraction_.”, grinned the tall man and shoved Grantaire a little, “Go on, keep yelling. I dare you.”

“Arsehole!”, snapped Grantaire and turned towards the cart again where the dragon was meanwhile prodded by two poles to keep moving.

“Stop this!”, shouted Grantaire and finally the crowd around him got into motion. He pushed forwards without acknowledging the protest of the other onlookers as he shoved past them.

“Remove this man!”, commanded the showman two burly men at the sides of the cart who moved towards Grantaire with grim faces.

“This is cruelty!”, shouted Grantaire and grabbed the arm of a girl next to him, “And you are looking while they are torturing an innocent animal!”

“Shut him up, now!”, called the showman and one of the guards reached out for Grantaire who dodged the grabbing hand and instead punched the man in the jaw.

The crowd dissolved in an instant as Grantaire got a right hook from the companion of the man he had hit that sent him flying to the ground, his eye hurting like hell. Before he could get up, two fists were curling around the front of his dilapidated shirt and yanked him into the air.

Grantaire scowled into the face of the guard he had punched and readied himself to receive another blow when the man from before – the giant and his copper haired companion – came to his rescue. The tall guy hurled himself at the man holding Grantaire and knocked him plain off his feet. The copper haired offered Grantaire – who had dropped like a limp rag-doll to the ground – a hand and hurled him to his feet, his other hand closed around the handle of a long dagger.

Grantaire's eyes widened while the man patted his back and advised: “You should better get out of here, friend.”

Before Grantaire could react, the second guard hurled himself at the copper haired and attempted to overpower him with his heavy club. But the other man was surprisingly agile and quick and soon had his assailant involved into a vile dagger versus club fight.

The crowd had dissolved into chaos and more guards had shown up before the cart with the dragon. Grantaire turned and saw the bald man fighting with two short daggers against the showman himself who wielded a short sword. The young man with the limp used his cane like a spear and was surprisingly efficient with that.

But what shocked and amazed Grantaire more than that was what happened a few feet to their right. Two humongous dragons landed in the clearing, one slightly smaller than the other. The bigger one was dark blue with the body of a puma and wore a saddle and a bridle, a tall young man sitting on its back. While it snarled at the guards, the other dragon – red, lithe, majestic – landed as well.

Grantaire's breath seemed to stop dead in his lungs when he set eyes on the rider of that dragon. He was wearing black leather trousers, a crimson red shirt and a nearly-black leather cuirass. His blond, lush curls stuck out under some kind of leather mask that both the men on dragonback wore and when he tore it off his face, Grantaire almost had a minor stroke.

He was the most beautiful human Grantaire had ever seen. His features were even and sculpted to perfection, the high cheekbones so sharp one could possibly split a hair with them, his eyes fierce and as blue as cornflowers, his lips so tempting that Grantaire would happily spent the rest of his life kissing them without once complaining.

But what captured Grantaire more than the beauty of this man was the fire that seemed to consume him. He was a furious archangel, an avenging force of nature as he leapt down to earth and drew a slender sword to defend himself against two attackers. His teeth were bared and his eyes sparkled threatening while his sword clashed with the ones of his attackers. Grantaire believed in nothing and no one, but he could believe in this man whose severity inspired him and showed him that he could care for something. And if that was just keeping that man alive.

Grantaire got aware how the other rider slid off his mount and ran towards the cage the dragon was pacing back and forth now, communicating with the other two dragons on the clearing through chirping and whimpering that was echoed deeper and louder by the other two.

And then, Grantaire understood and all the pieces slid into place. He had heard of them, had read their pamphlets and had laughed about their fruitless tries to change the people. They were the rebels who fought for dragons and those idiots who lived with them although it was illegal. And while he was watching the tall rider struggle with two attackers – was there a nest somewhere around because those guards didn't seem to stop surfacing?! – something in him changed.

If the blond man was willing to risk everything for that creature, it could not be so bad as all the people said. If he was able to bend the law, to risk his life, Grantaire would be the last one to stand in his way. In fact...

Grantaire got into motion and ran towards the cage where the dragon was meanwhile screeching for help. The showman was yelling commands at his men while he himself seemed not fond of getting his hands dirty.

Grantaire stooped and picked up the pole one of the men had dropped from poking the dragon. He grabbed it with both hands and swung it in a vicious blow at the showman where it hit him square in the jaw. The man broke down like a sedated elk and remained motionless to Grantaire's feet.

His fingers found the hook at his belt where the keyring hung in just a second and a moment later he was stumbling over to the cage door, his fingers closed like vices around the small metal keys, praying that he would find the right one in time to save the poor beast.

The dragon hissed at him once he was at the door, trying to ram one key after the other into the keyhole until one would fit. While his pulse drummed in his temples and his heart trying to break out of his ribcage, he murmured: “Stop that shit, you ungrateful bugger, I'm trying to help you.”

The dragon made a step back, scoffed and cocked its head and Grantaire would be damned if that grimace didn't look like the dragon was raising an eyebrow at him. He really should stop drinking so much, his senses were going to waste.

Finally, Grantaire found the key and unlocked the door. Once it swung open, someone grabbed his shoulder and drew him back. He looked up to find the tall young man who had come on the blue dragon smile nervous at him.

“Thanks for your help, my friend, but we'll take her from here.”, he said and nodded at Grantaire who wanted to protest when the bald guy and the limping one showed up as well.

“You should better get away from here before you get busted for helping us dangerous rebels!”, grinned the bald guy and winked what seemed to fuel Grantaire's alcohol-fuelled anger even more.

“Helping _you_?”, he snapped at the two men, “ _I_ was the only one saying anything against those monsters. You kept safely hiding behind me!”

“Woah, someone's had a little bit too much hero-potion this morning.”, grinned the bulky man who came up behind Grantaire and gave him a good-natured clap on the back.

“I am the only one who defended it!”, barked Grantaire while the limping one slowly crawled into the cage to lure the dragon to himself – which did not really work out for the dragon backed away, grumbling deep in its throat.

“Her.”, said the tall one who had produced a thin pair of glasses out of nowhere.

“What?!”, snapped Grantaire aggravated.

“The dragon is female. A female rough neck, to be precise.”, said the tall man without flinching from Grantaire's angry looks.

“I don't care!”, spat Grantaire and threw his hands into the air, “Fact is you just looked on as they were prodding her and abusing her while I was the one...”

“Who threatened our whole operation and is delaying us now so much that we will get caught in the end and risk the life of not only this rough neck but also our own dragons!”, came a sharp, clear voice from behind Grantaire.

Without turning around, he knew that this voice – this severity, clarity and righteousness – could only belong to the blond leader who was jogging towards them now, the tip of his blade crimson red. He fixated Grantaire with those burning blue eyes and snorted. Then he turned to the one in the cage and asked: “What the hell is taking you so long, Joly?”

“She's completely terrified. She doesn't trust me.”, said the man with the limp – Joly? – and huffed a little nervous while the dragon threw her head into her neck when he approached again.

“Then grab her!”, commanded the blond leader impatient.

“That would not serve the purpose, Enjolras.”, gave the tall one back and shook his head at the blond leader.

Grantaire groaned and shoved past the tall one and the leader, Enjolras. He knew that he would face the wrath of the blond archangel, but he couldn't give a shit about that seeing what the problem was while those so called dragon-experts were being blind fucks.

“What are you doing, you idiot?!”, snapped Enjolras and Grantaire felt a hand on his back that was removed quickly after. Grantaire did not turn to look what had prompted the change in Enjolras' mood but moved further into the cage.

“Are you all as stupid as your leader is gorgeous?!”, asked Grantaire harshly and pushed Joly a little to the side, pointing at the latter's cane, “She's been abused with sticks and poles, do you think it was the best idea to sent the kid with the cane to get her?!”

Silence settled while Grantaire knelt down, his eyes trained at the dragon girl to his feet. Her breath was coming rapid and her eyes were so wide Grantaire could see the white in them. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe he was being just plain stupid, but Grantaire reached out carefully and drew the bridle-like gag from her nose that restricted her from breathing fire.

Joly yelled and threw himself to the side when the dragon filled her lungs with air and breathed out through the nose. Grantaire could not react fast enough – in fact, he seemed to see everything a lot slower than it happened in reality.

The fire curled around the nostrils first, then it shot towards Grantaire, straight for his face and neck. He raised one arm – painfully slowly – which would not prove any security but would at least make his brain think he was being protected. With his eyes tight shut, he felt the flames curl over his skin, waited for the heat to set in, for the pain to start, but instead he felt like being wrapped up in a blanket, the warmth seeping through his skin and drawing toward his chest, where it curled up like a big, fuzzy ball directly beneath his heart.

Emotions were racing through his organism, emotions that were not his own. Unlimited fear, suspicion, hatred and a lot of confusion were shooting through his veins while he felt that his alcohol-dulled feelings were somehow drawn from his body and connected to something else outside of his own reach.

Pictures were unravelling in his mind, pictures that Grantaire had never seen or memorized. Eggs, big, brown eggs that were resting on a pile of straw, some showing cracks, a few others already open, like his own shell. Another rough neck, darker in colour, Grantaire's mother – no, not his mother, the mother of this dragon. Hunts in sun-painted meadows, through warm and soft undergrowth, then the jaws of a trap digging into his ankle, taking him down. The showman, laughing viciously. Poles and clubs and iron bars and the feeling of utter loneliness while the scenery in front of the bars was ever changing until Grantaire did not recognize them anymore.

He fell back and collapsed on the floor, his heart thundering and his hands shaking. One shot up to his dark curls, grabbing a handful, because they were not burnt, they were still there and Grantaire was still alive.

The dragon stared completely confused at him for a moment, then lunged forward and snuggled up to him, humming-purring-grumbling in her throat while pushing her head against his shoulder time and again.

“What the...?! Get her off!”, begged Grantaire completely overtaxed with the situation and shoved at the dragon. She just chirped and tried pushing her snout into his hand.

“We need to take him with us.”, said the tall guy with the glasses while the bulky giant helped Grantaire to his feet who only at the side of his vision realized that the showmen had rallied and were pushing towards the tall dragons with pitchforks and torches – how cliché!

“He's a civilian!”, huffed Enjolras but sheathed his sword, glaring daggers at Grantaire who was hiding behind the giant in favour of having another person between himself and the dragon who was still eyeing him fondly. And the weirdest part of it was that Grantaire felt the very same feeling cursing through his veins although he was so confused and afraid that he felt like screaming his head off.

“We were all civilians at one point or another.”, argued Joly and smiled encouraging at Grantaire who was still fleeing around the bulky man to get away from the dragon chasing him.

“Could someone stop him, please?! I already feel dizzy!”, complained the bulky man and grabbed Grantaire by the collar to hinder him from running another lap around him.

“We need to get going, Enjolras.”, warned the tall one and Enjolras groaned, threw his hands into the air – overly dramatical, Grantaire thought – and turned on his heel.

“Fine! Feuilly, you take the cargo. The rough neck will be able to follow on her own, won't she, Bossuet?”, asked Enjolras and shot another sour look towards Grantaire who tried to push the dragon away who was rubbing her head against his thigh now.

“She'll be fine. She seems strong enough!”, said the bald guy who was obviously named Bossuet and patted the head of the dragon for a moment before winking at Grantaire with the words: “And once we're somewhere more private, I'll tell you all about the bonding!”

“Bonding?!”, asked Grantaire, his mood bordering on hysteric, “What kind of sick bastards are you?!”

“Geez, he's as dumb as a log!”, laughed the giant who raised two fingers to his lips then and whistled once.

Grantaire nearly threw himself to the ground with all the other showmen when two more humongous dragons landed in the clearing, snarling and glaring at the left over showmen who were fleeing to the woods now. One was bright orange and had a beak-like snout, the other burly and black as the night with a few white stripes on the back.

“Oh god... oh please, no! I'm too young to die...”, stuttered Grantaire terrified when the black one came towards him and sniffed noisily, making the smaller dragon – the one they had saved – growl towards the other one and position herself between Grantaire and the big one as if she wanted to defend him.

“Calm down, Swoboda will not do anything to you. In fact, I think she'd rather be repulsed by how much you stink of alcohol, my friend.”, remarked the ginger one and helped Grantaire to his feet.

“Wh...What?”, stuttered Grantaire who felt close to a breakdown the more these people were talking. That giant monster had a name and would not eat him and he in fact was meant to ride on her back like the Enjolras-guy had done with the red dragon? Was he hallucinating? Was he going mad?

“Come here, I'll help you up!”, declared the copper one – hadn't Enjolras called him Feuilly? – and offered his hands to Grantaire to give him a leg up.

“Are you takin' the piss?”, shouted Grantaire, now really close to panicking, while he whirled around, “No way I'm going to sit on that thing! That's madness!!!”

“Listen, drunkard!”, said the cool voice of Enjolras behind him and Grantaire turned around to see him glare at him, already astride his dragon, the reins in one fist while he stood in the stirrups, the leather mask pushed up into his hair. He looked so much like one of the antique sculptures Grantaire had admired as a child that his stomach seemed to drop through the floor. But he couldn't bite back the remark that was burning on his tongue: “My name's Grantaire, arsehole!”

“Careful...”, muttered Feuilly – not threatening but now really concerned.

“Fine then, _Grantaire_!”, said Enjolras and pointed to the woods around them, his face hard and his voice harsh while he almost hissed: “If you don't want our help, fine. Go and flee into the woods but your dragon will not leave your side, whether you want it or not. And eventually, they will start hunting you and her and let me tell you, once they find you and kill her, you'll suffer. Because knowing of the bonding or not, you'll feel her death like a part of you being ripped to pieces without the hope of fixing it ever again. You'll wish you were dead for the rest of your life.”

“As if I'm not already wishing that each and every day!”, snapped Grantaire back bitterly while the words of Enjolras had somehow moved him – or had it been the strange emotions that were not his own but were cursing through his veins ever since the dragon breathed fire at him?

Enjolras' eyebrows narrowed and his face lost something of the severity and he seemed genuinely shocked and concerned for Grantaire – but only for a second. He stared Grantaire down – or at least tried to – and scoffed when Grantaire made no move to say or do something.

“All right, stay! Friends, we're leaving! Now!”, he snapped and pushed his dragon into the air. The red dragon shot up vertically, vanished into the treetops and was out of sight in an instant.

The orange dragon that was mounted by the bulky giant and Bossuet followed suit. The only ones left were Feuilly and the black dragon and the tall man astride the blue dragon, behind whom Grantaire could see Joly's pale face. Feuilly and the tall one exchanged a long look, then the tall one turned to Grantaire: “We don't have much time, Grantaire. The men will be back soon and will bring guards. You will have nowhere to go, not with her following you.”

“Then take her away, for fuck's sake, I don't even want her. I don't even know what she wants!”, barked Grantaire, shoving the dragon girl away once again while she glared innocently and begging at him.

“That's why you should come with us.”, said the tall one calmly and nodded slowly, “We can explain and help you understand. It's complicated and new for you and you will be confused, I know that. We all were at the start.”

“Come with us, Grantaire.”, said Joly begging and leaned around the tall one, “Please, we want to help you. And her... We're not your enemies and we won't do anything to you, cross my heart and hope to die!”

Grantaire stared at the pale young man whose face was so begging that it was almost cute. He kept glaring at Grantaire through those huge grey eyes and Grantaire would be damned if he gave in to that face now, because he would be forever falling for that look.

But Grantaire was also confused, scared and still really drunk. And with that dragon following him like a shadow and clearly wanting something from him that he could not understand, he had not really much choice in the matter, had he?

Sighing deeply, Grantaire nodded slowly and turned to Feuilly: “Fine, let's go.”

Feuilly smiled wide and helped him onto the dragon where Grantaire sat as stiff as a stick, his fingers curled around the back of the saddle, his legs cramping form fear of the animal he sat on. Feuilly followed suit and dragged his mask over his face while the gigantic blue dragon rose into the air and vanished the same way the other two dragons had left.

“Hold on, all right? It could get a little bumpy!”, advised Feuilly and dragged Grantaire's arms around his torso, patting the folded hands over his stomach a moment later. Before Grantaire could reply anything, the dragon set off.

Later, Grantaire would deny that he had been scared as hell, had probably given Feuilly a few nice, dark bruises and had only been barely able to keep from vomiting once they were in the air. The flight did not take long, but Grantaire felt like sitting on a horse that had only three legs and the front two where tied to each other so that it jumped and squirmed with every step. The wide wings of the dragon swooped through the air and jolted Grantaire up and down while Feuilly laughed about the groans Grantaire produced now and then.

What felt like an eternity later, the dragon descended into a cave and once the beast had landed, Grantaire all but jumped off the back of the animal to collapse to the ground and retch dryly a few times. When his stomach declined his wish to relieve himself of the greasy stew he had had for supper, he wiped his sweaty brow and stood up with shaking knees and pushed his hair out of his eyes with jittery hands.

“Well, seems our hero is air-sick.”, grinned the giant again while he leaned against a wooden construction that held another saddle.

“Why did you bring him?”, barked Enjolras whose eyes were blazing with anger while he marched towards Feuilly who was patting Swoboda and praised her quietly.

“Combeferre and Joly talked to him.”, replied Feuilly calmly as if that was explaining everything.

“Enjolras, we couldn't leave him there.”, said the tall one who appeared out of the dim darkness of the cave.

“They would have hunted him.”, added Joly who limped forward, his cane echoing quietly in the cave.

“So? He refused our help!”, spat Enjolras and turned towards Grantaire to keep his rant up, but Grantaire cut him short by barking: “What's your problem, blondie?!”

Enjolras turned to him and Grantaire was not sure if he wasn't going to breath fire at him or rip his head off in an instant because the anger that radiated off of him was nearly palpable – and Grantaire had never seen anything more sexy than that.

“What... did you just say?”, asked Enjolras, his voice dangerously low while he made two slow steps towards Grantaire, like a predator closing in on its prey and Grantaire's heart might have missed a few beats while he pictured Enjolras biting his neck while crowding him into the floor.

“I said”, started Grantaire and hoped that his cheeks weren't as red as they were hot, “What's your problem with me? Since we've met you showed me nothing but disdain! I didn't do anything to offend you so get down from your high horse and start treating me like a human being!”

“So you didn't offend me yesterday in the inn, huh?”, asked Enjolras and made another step towards Grantaire while the tall one called Combeferre groaned.

“Oh good grief, that's why you were so familiar!”, he sighed towards Grantaire and took Enjolras by the shoulder only to be shaken off like a nasty bug.

“Yes, that's him!”, growled Enjolras and glared at Grantaire, “The drunkard who spoke so loudly of us foolish boys who were fighting for idiotic goals and living in a dream world if we thought we could change _anything_ in this realm!”

Grantaire gaped at Enjolras, his mouth hanging open a bit while the alcohol in his organism still made it hard to concentrate and understand everything as fast as he should. He tried to remember the evening prior but everything slipped his grasp once he tried to focus on it. There had been a lot of cheap red wine, not enough to eat and the buzzing crowd looking forward to the fair the next day.

“You don't even remember, do you?”, asked Enjolras dangerously low and glared Grantaire down who felt so inadequate before that gaze that he started to feel cold.

“Let it go, Enj.”, advised Combeferre again, “He was drunk.”

Enjolras glared at Grantaire one more time, then he turned on his heel and marched off into the darkness of another tunnel without another word.

Silence settled over the small gathering and Grantaire got aware that the dragon girl sat beside him as if she belonged there and only there. He groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face, hoping to find some focus and sense in the happenings of this night. He was truly going crazy or maybe the alcohol had burned away so many brain cells that he was becoming dumb now.

“Here.”

Grantaire raised his face out of his hands and stared bleary eyed at Joly who offered him a small flask with a shy grin. Grantaire took it without hesitation and downed what it contained. Although he had hoped to taste some strong alcohol, he found to his disappointment that it contained some herbal liquid that left a sour taste on his tongue.

“Thanks...”, he muttered never the less and handed the flask back to the young man who grinned, stuck it under his armpit and put the lid on with the other hand.

“You're very welcome.”, replied Joly and winked while Combeferre and Bossuet stepped to them as well.

“I really managed to piss him off, didn't I?”, asked Grantaire and scratched the back of his neck a little sheepishly.

“You did.”, agreed Combeferre, “I was with him. What you said was pretty hurtful for him.”

“Enjolras wants to fight for the people.”, declared Bossuet and scratched his nose, “And hearing that the people don't believe in his fight can make the bravest man despair.”

“Is that what I said?”, asked Grantaire and felt so embarrassed that he could not remember the evening before, burping into his fist which made him absolutely not feel any better – more worse.

“Pretty much.”, sighed Combeferre and shook his head, “But for the moment, let's not worry about Enjolras, let's talk about what happened at the fair...”

“Yeah, that...”, muttered Grantaire and looked down at the dragon girl who stared up at him and blinked happily – did she just wink at him?!

“I suppose you know some of Enjolras' pamphlets?”, asked Combeferre and cocked his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “You talked about them yesterday.”

“I read some when I was in the capital a few weeks ago.”, said Grantaire and crossed his arms awkwardly.

“And you still remember them?!”, teased Bossuet and if Grantaire had not been that confused and intimidated, he would have probably found a witty remark to retort, but not so today.

Combeferre seemed inclined to ignore Bossuet and carried on: “Have you read the one about the bonding?!”

“I'm not into that kind of thing.”, snapped Grantaire, feeling his cheeks heat up once more while images of him being tied to a bed – by Enjolras – surfaced in his mind and sent a hot jolt down his spine.

Joly and Bossuet laughed thundering and Combeferre chuckled, then he shook his head and stated calmly: “We are not talking about bondage, Grantaire...”

“My friends call me R... that is if I had any!”, stated Grantaire who was not used that his full name was being used by anyone but his late aunt and uncle.

“All right... R...”, smiled Combeferre and blinked friendly, “We don't mean that sexual practice. We talk about the bond that's created between a dragon and a human.”

“Every human being has a dragon counterpart... and vice versa.”, declared Bousset and seemed to take over the explanation of the bonding-thing, “The human is the only one who will not be burnt by the fire of the dragon and once they breath fire on them, their souls connect.”

“Their... souls...?!”, asked Grantaire lamely, half incredulous, half amused, raising an eyebrow at Bossuet.

“Their souls, yes.”, confirmed Bossuet and smiled gently, “They will share memories, they will experience the others feelings and once they get to know each other, they can communicate without words.”

“Are you talking about telekinesis and shit?!”, asked Grantaire and had to struggle not to burst into helpless giggles because this sounded all so _wrong_.

“What you mean is telepathy.”, corrected Combeferre, smiling mildly.

“And yes, that's what we're talking about.”, added Joly and smiled as well.

Grantaire felt like a small child with the way they were smiling at him and were being so gentle and quiet and composed. He on the other hand wanted to scream and tear his hair and just get away from this madness.

He flinched when suddenly the feeling of calmness cursed through him and he stared incredulously at the dragon at his feet who blinked innocently, her gaze drilling itself into Grantaire's like she was trying to tell him something.

“She is trying to get through to you.”, declared Bossuet and knelt down to scratch the rough neck between her cork-screw horns, “You just need to let her. Sometimes it's easier to let your dragon explain than learn it from some strangers.”

“All of you have serious issues, you know that, don't you?!”, asked Grantaire and backed a step away because... talking dragons? In his head? They had to be completely mad or Grantaire would have to jump off a cliff. This was all too much.

“Did you never feel lonely and lost? Incomplete? Lacking something nothing could provide?”, asked Combeferre and eyed him carefully, “A hunger no food could ease, thirst that could not be stilled by the best wine?”

“That's because you've been missing her in your life.”, said Joly careful and followed him slowly while Grantaire slowly backed away from them.

How could they know the feeling that had been gnawing at Grantaire ever since he could remember? How could they know that he felt like lacking a limb all of the time? That he was drinking to fill that emptiness inside him? That he had tried drugs and the company of prostitutes in order to stop feeling alone?

“Don't panic, all right?”, asked Bossuet slowly and got up again, the dragon staring concerned at Grantaire and sent a wave of consolation through him once again.

“Stop doing that!”, screamed Grantaire at her and clawed his hands into his hair, closing his eyes while he felt a panic attack clawing at his core.

“Calm down, R. We are here for you.”, said Combeferre quietly and Grantaire felt an arm around his shoulder. He wanted to shake it off but it was too consoling to retreat from it. And Combeferre kept talking: “This is a lot to stomach, I know that. We have all been in this situation before, we know how it feels. And we don't want to pressure you, we just want to help you.”

“No one can help me. I'm a mess.”, whispered Grantaire, unable to open his eyes while the doubts clawed at his heart again, his brain struggling against the wish to just allow them to let them help him, to finally allow a person to get closer to him.

“And that's not true.”, said Joly gently and Grantaire felt another presence by his side, unable to open his eyes.

“Everyone deserves some happiness, R. You probably don't believe me right now but with a little help and a little time, you will feel better.”, he assure again and rubbed Grantaire's shoulder.

“I can't believe this, I just can't...”, stuttered Grantaire and nearly succumbed to the urge to run if Combeferre's arm had not tightened around his shoulders.

“Just breath, Grantaire.”, said Combeferre.

A memory struck him, the memory of a soft voice mumbling: “Just breathe, my darling. And all will be forgotten!”

Grantaire felt like bursting out of his skin. It was too much: the sorrowful eyes of his new acquaintances, the feeling of consolation that was pushed onto him like a duvet he did not want and the questions and doubts in his head.

He bolted.

The cave was large and sooner than he liked his flight was put to an end. He could not breathe while his fingers clawed on the rough stone walls till they bled. He was suffocating, he couldn't breathe, he felt like crying and screaming and hitting something while his blood rushed in his ears and his heart thumped hard in his throat.

Sinking to the ground, he wound up into a ball, grabbing his bent legs with both arms and pressing his face against his own shoulder. He clawed for breath, feeling his head reeling while the voice he had been pushing from his mind for 24 years was back in his memory: “Breathe, my darling. The pain will go away.”

 

 

_The sun was warm and the grass soft but his hand hurt like hell. He was crying hot tears while his mother held him in her arms, her light blue pond diver sitting on her shoulder and chirping at the boy consolingly._

 

“ _It burns so!”, sobbed Grantaire and curled his fingers around the burnt palm._

 

“ _I know, my darling, I know. Just keep breathing. It will go away.”, his mother mumbled and kissed his temple. She started humming his lullaby and Chalis accompanied her with low humming-purring-grumbling._

 

_Slowly, Grantaire settled down and stared at his mother's medallion resting just in front of the tip of his nose against her white skin. He felt her heartbeat against his cheek and smelled the slight scent of gooseberries and lilac on her summer dress. Looking up, he saw her emerald eyes sparkle fondly down at him and her ebony hair curl around her soft, warm face._

 

“ _Better, my darling?”, she asked and kissed the tip of his nose._

 

“ _Mhm.”, made the boy and reached out a hand to tickle Chalis on the belly. The small dragon chuckled and leaped from his mother's shoulder to perch on his head, nuzzling down into his hair where he hummed-purred-grumbled content._

 

“ _What were you thinking, Grantaire?”, asked his mother concerned and rocked him a little, his lids growing heavier while the thudding in his palm subsided, “I told you not to seek her. She will find you in her own time.”_

 

“ _But she didn't fly away when I came here. She looked at me like she knew.”, sniffled Grantaire and thought once again about the badger catcher who had been resting on this meadow when he had appeared here to pick some flowers for his mother._

 

“ _My little treasure...”, sighed his mother and held him tighter, pressing a kiss onto his forehead, “The day will come, you need to learn patience!”_

 

 

“Open your eyes for me, Grantaire.”

Grantaire felt something cool on the side of his face and his eyelids fluttered.

Cornflowers. He had been picking cornflowers. Blue, delicate and soft...

“There we go. Grantaire, can you hear me?!”

Sharp cheekbones... the faintest hint of freckles...

“I think he's totally out of it. We need to give him some kind of potion! We should have approached this another way... It was too much for him and his poor dragon. He could have...”

“Sush, Joly!”

Quiet echoes disturbed the fuzzy buzzing in his ears. There had been a bee-hive in his father's garden. With all that sweet honey. His mother had loved honey in her herbal-tea.

“He's fine, just step back.”

He knew that voice. Grantaire blinked again and there he was. Just an inch in front of his face. Cupping his cheek with a cold hand, his eyes blue as cornflowers and the furrow between his gorgeous brows more prominent than he had ever seen it.

“Grantaire?”

“You're wearing my name out if you keep saying it so much.”, Grantaire chocked out and tried to sit up more, his memories and thoughts already slipping from him. Grateful he grabbed Enjolras' hand which was offered to him.

“Be serious.”, chided Enjolras gently, “How are you feeling?”

“Wild...”, was the only thing that came to Grantaire's mind which granted him a scowl from Enjolras and a chuckle from Joly.

“All right, he's back.”, said Bossuet to someone behind Enjolras' back and then added, “We give you some space.”

“But shouldn't we...?!”, fretted Joly but was quietly ushered away by Combeferre and Bossuet.

They left and Grantaire was painfully aware that Enjolras was still kneeling in front of him, the little dragon girl waiting behind him, eyeing Grantaire sorrowfully.

“Who is Henrietté?”, asked Enjolras directly.

Grantaire winced.

“My mother.”

“Oh.”

Grantaire felt himself blush vehemently and wished that Enjolras would revert his eyes. He felt awful for having a panic attack and for blacking out. Those had not occurred in years – thanks to his usual drunken stupor – and had been the curse of his younger years.

“My mother had them too.”, said Enjolras and sat down next to Grantaire, reaching a hand out for the dragon girl and patting her nostrils soothingly. Grantaire tried to ignore the wide, begging eyes of the dragon still trained hard on him.

“Had what too?”, asked Grantaire confused, still trying to fight the feelings that the dragon was pushing on him and trying to sort through his thoughts.

“Panic attacks.”, explained Enjolras, “When she was little, a dragon followed her family and set the carriage ablaze while trying to find their partner. Ever since that day, she loathed small rooms and open fire. And sometimes... some of those things would trigger her.”

“Hmpf...”, made Grantaire, as helpful as ever and averted his eyes to scrub at a scab on his lower arm.

Enjolras fell silent. He was waiting for something and Grantaire knew he was but he wouldn't grant him the favour of caving in, of looking even more pathetic than he already did. This was his past, his burden, his nightmares and he would not share them with anyone!

“You should at least give her a name.”, said Enjolras after a while then the young rough-neck curled up on the stone next to Enjolras, looking more miserable than Grantaire had ever felt in his whole life.

“Does she not have one?”, asked Grantaire lamely in an attempt to be funny.

Enjolras gave him a cold stare, his brows drawn and his mouth set in a hard line. All right, so Grantaire needed to work out what actually made this man laugh because if he looked that attractive frowning, he would look divine with a smile on his face.

“Dragons get their names from their partners. Mine is called Ruby...”

“How creative!”

“... and Combeferre called his companion Parthenope.”

“What a nerd...”

“You know, you could be a bit more grateful for being rescued from certain imprisonment and or death and for finding your dragon!”, snapped Enjolras and got to his feet, giving him a furious glance.

Grantaire smiled to himself. That fire was more than attractive about him. Only thinking about it made Grantaire shiver.

Enjolras turned to leave and suddenly a pang of reprimand exploded in Grantaire's chest and made him actually whelp. Enjolras whirled around and made an aborted gesture towards him, when he caught sight of the dragon, scowling at Grantaire who rubbed his chest carefully.

“I see you two are quite similar.”, detected Enjolras drily and scratched the dragon between her horns, the small monster looking proud of herself.

“She's a pest.”

“Like I said... quite similar.”, retorted Enjolras and levelled Grantaire with a gaze that could even be called amused.

Grantaire scowled though he loved that playful sparkle in Enjolras' blue eyes... Cornflowers...

Well, to hell with it...

“I was three or four.”, he said and Enjolras looked up from scratching the dragon-girl who looked at him like he was some sort of god. The blond kept quiet and Grantaire took it as his cue to go on.

“I didn't know... I only remembered today... or I tried to forget it but... She had one of those”, he motioned with his chin to the dragon, “Small thing, blue... Don't know the race... The soldiers, they... I grew up with my aunt and uncle.”

“I'm sorry.”, said Enjolras softly and watched him concerned.

Grantaire felt foolish. He had told Enjolras basically nothing about himself with his stuttering and muttering but the blond seemed appeased and content with his explanation. There was even something like understanding in his eyes while he watched the drunkard slowly sobering-up.

Waiving his hand about dismissively, Grantaire snorted: “Don't be! I've grown out of it. I'm handling it.”

“Of course you are.”, said Enjolras and there was a hint of annoyance again that bothered Grantaire. If he was loathing his way of handling things why was he even bothering?!

Silence settled over the small cave while Enjolras kept patting the dragon and Grantaire was trying to figure out what the leader of the rebels was expecting him to do next. It bothered him that he wanted to appease the blond man towering over him like an imposing hero-statue... as if he was a faithful little puppy trying to win its master's good graces.

Clueless, Grantaire gave the dragon a thorough scrutiny. She was a sturdy little fellow with dark purple scales and a shimmer of red in them like expensive wine in a translucent bottle. Grantaire cocked his head and watched the muscles moving under the scales as the dragon rubbed herself contently on Enjolras' leg who was watching her fondly.

Grantaire shooed the image of himself in that position from his mind and cleared his throat embarrassed. But the imagery of wine in the sunlight stuck with him and he wondered whether the dragon-girl would be satisfied with the name he had come up with.

At the back of his mind there was suddenly curiosity scratching at his thoughts, a curiosity that wasn't his own. Grantaire gave the dragon a quick glance and she was staring right back at him. Tentatively, Grantaire tried to open up to her, like the rebels had advised him to do.

She turned fully to him and sniffed into his direction. Enjolras was watching on while the dragon crept towards Grantaire, nosing his shoulder after a moment, warmth spreading in Grantaire's chest about how relieved she looked.

As if sluice gates were opened in his mind and heart, there were suddenly feelings blooming in Grantaire he knew weren't his own. Relieve, an abundance of joy and happiness that made Grantaire smile despite himself while he felt his own worries, his grief and confusion leave him to be shared with another. There were whirling thoughts of a cage, of a mother crying for her daughter and of hard hands grabbing him – no her!

Within a moment, Grantaire learned everything about his dragon. About her childhood, the trap she had tapped into, about her mother trying to free her and giving her life for her, about her time with the cruel men of the circus and about the moment she had breathed fire on Grantaire.

There were tears in his eyes while he was still smiling wide. He did not know what to do with so many emotions – and with the feeling of being complete for the first time in his life. Actually laughing out loud he wrapped both arms around the dragon and pressed his face into the warm scales of the dragon-girl who was humming-purring-grumbling at him in response.

Wiping his eyes and looking up to Enjolras, Grantaire smiled lopsidedly at the leader of the rebel forces and declared: “Her name is Syrah!”

“You're unbelievable!”, huffed Enjolras, seemingly trying to come off as bothered but failing and granting Grantaire a soft smile that made even more warmth blossom in his chest.

In this moment, Grantaire was sure that he was where he was meant to be.


End file.
